Where The Corners Meet
by Laerkstrein
Summary: The year is 1934. The change in the Amestrian government has finally brought great peace and prosperity to the nation. But one eager boy, the son of former State Alchemist Edward Elric, has made it his duty to uncover the tragedies of his father's past, and to correct the mistakes of his own. Post-FMA:B.
1. Father

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Where The Corners Meet**

**Chapter 1: **Father

**A/N: **For the longest time, I've been meaning to do this. I've had the layout for this story set out for months, and now I finally get around to it. In short, this is set twenty years after the end of FMA: Brotherhood, in the year 1934, focusing on Edward's family.

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><p>He cursed the breeze, it's constant blowing severely impeding his progress as he ran up the hill. He'd caught wind of the news from one of the neighbors as he'd sat down by the stream, fishing in the warm glow of the morning sun. It was his favorite pastime, fishing. His father had taught him when he was just a little boy, explaining the importance of patience and a keen eye. Of course, that couldn't have been more hypocritical, as Edward Elric was not a very patient man.<p>

Even so, that should have been the last thing on Winston's mind. Finally, his father had returned from Central after three weeks of a conference of some sort. His father had been going away like this for a long time, though Winston had never found out why. No one had ever told him. And, at fourteen, he thought it high-time that he get an answer.

That's why he was in such a hurry.

He stumbled, cursing as the dog ran out to meet him at the gate. Winston pushed her aside, insisting that she fetch, failing to realize that it was the wrong command. The door was opened swiftly by his mother, the smile on her face stating that she was expecting her husband.

"Winston, what are you doing?" she asked as he collapsed on the front porch.

The youth looked up at her with wide eyes, sweat beading on his forehead, bare feet burning against the wood. "Is Dad home yet? I heard he was coming back today."

His mother sighed, smiling. "You're just like him, you know," she said fondly, kneeling beside him. "Impatient, curious, and always in a hurry."

Winston moaned, rolling his eyes as he flopped backwards into the dirt at the bottom of the steps. "You say that all the time," he whined, scratching out a squiggle among the small stones. "Can't you just tell me if he's home or not? I gotta talk to him about something, and it's real important."

She stood, hands on her hips as she shook her head. "Haven't seen him yet, dear. Your uncle came by this morning with the news, but that's it." A sigh. "We don't even know what time he'll be here, if at all."

The blond youth smiled, satisfied enough with his mother's answer. He stood, darting into the house and down the hallway to his father's office. Although his father's reasons for leaving were a mystery, but he had an awful lot of books on his shelf regarding physics, mechanics, Amestrian history, and something called alchemy.

And, strangely enough, his father never answered any questions about the latter.

"So he could be at the station?" Winston asked, walking back out the door with an alchemy book under his arm.

Her blond hair fell out of it's ponytail as she shrugged. "Could be. Unless he's off with your uncle for an early lunch. Maybe you should go check."

Winston nodded, flying off the porch with a single leap, landing easily on his feet. He took off down the road, the dog barking happily at his heels. He didn't even hear his mother insisting that he turn himself around and get some shoes on.

Once he hit the main road, Winston slowed down, looking to his left to see a rotted old tree. Amazing it was still alive, after all this time. From what his father had told him, it had been around since his own parents had settled in Risembool. Not surprising that a tree could live past his old man's thirty-five years, but that it had survived the damages of flame. He knew the story, and a little too well.

It had been an accident that took his grandmother away, long after his grandfather had vanished. His father and uncle had made a mistake, one that had cost them the better part of four years. As to what that mistake was, Winston didn't know. His father had been mum on the subject. But Winston was smart enough to know that it had something to do with his father's automail leg. Maybe an accident in the Civil War?

Marla barked, snapping him out of his reverie. Winston smiled, patting her head before taking off down the road towards the station, blond hair flying behind him.

Sure enough, there was a train on the tracks, puffing out loads of black smoke. As swiftly as it had come, it vanished, leaving the air looking as crisp and clear as before. He trudged to the ticket window, grinning at the woman stationed there, counting the day's earnings.

"Hey, Mrs. M.," he said, waving a hand. "My dad show up at all today?"

The woman nodded, strands of gray hair falling into her eyes. "That he did, Winston," she replied, placing the money in a metal box. "Passed by not ten minutes ago with your uncle."

"Any idea where they went?" Winston didn't even register that his eyes were wide as he pressed his hands against the glass of the window. "Did he say anything? Please, I gotta find him!"

Another nod, accompanied this time by a hand that pointed Winston southwest towards town. "They're the same as they always were, those Elric brothers," she laughed. "They come home, and run themselves to the first place with an open kitchen."

They must have been at the inn. Winston knew his father loved nothing more after a trip than to head into town and grab a plate of mashed potatoes and a steak. Of course, the meal came second to his mother's embrace, but the best was always saved for last.

He smiled, thanking her before running off with Marla, taking a shortcut through a grassy field. As they ran, Winston laughed, amused by the fact that his dog was playing hide-and-seek with him, her head popping out of the greenery every few feet or so.

For a moment, Winston stopped, looking at the worn book in his hands. _An Introduction to Alchemy_, it said. He ran his fingers across the leather binding and over the cover, the imprint of a golden circle making him wonder more. What was the significance of this seemingly mundane shape, and why was his father so against talking about it?

Could it have something to do with Matilda?

****# - # - # - #****

"All right! Now that's what I call a meal!" Edward shouted, slamming a fist on the table, utensils in his hands.

Simply put, it looked fantastic. A warm, white mound of mashed potatoes, drizzled lightly with the most mouth-watering brown gravy. And, to top it off, a sizzling steak sat to the side, one of the ends covered by steamed vegetables. Now, if only the cooks at the inn could make Granny Pinako's stew. Then, he'd eat there every day.

Of course, that probably wouldn't go over too well with Winry.

"Ed, you're doing it again," his brother chided, tossing him a napkin.

The older Elric looked across the small table, a golden eyebrow raised. "What's that, Al?" he said, eyes moving to the napkin. "Did I do something wrong? Wasn't one hug at the station enough?"

The other shook his head, laughing. "That's not it," he replied, grinning. "It's just... Well, you're doing _it _again, Ed."

"Doing what?"

"Just wipe your face," Alphonse insisted, nudging the napkin closer to his brother. "You're drooling like a kid."

Edward's eyes widened, swiping easily at his mouth with a sleeve as Alphonse shook his head. He couldn't help it. It was just a habit, wiping his face that way. Sure, it got his clothes a little dirtier than Winry would have liked, but it got the job done all the same.

He pushed aside the tall glass of milk that the waitress had brought for him, swapping it for the glass of water that had been placed before Alphonse. He then licked his lips, eyes wide as he jammed the fork into the tender meat, the knife slicing through it with precision to allow the juice and gravy to mingle.

"I'll tell ya, Al, it's been so long, I can't wait to...!"

There was a slam from behind him, drawing the attention of everyone in the restaurant. Even Alphonse, who was usually very composed, looked to be in shock. Dropping the fork, Edward waved a hand in front of his brother's face, curious as to why he was suddenly so silent. In turn, the younger Elric slowly pointed over Edward's shoulder, eyes even wider than before. With that, Edward looked back, the same expression coming to rest upon his own face.

"Dad!"

Edward stiffened, arms wrapped securely around his neck in a tight hug. He let out a breath, smiling awkwardly as he patted his son's back.

"Hey, Winston," he said, forcing out a laugh. "How'd ya find me? Aren't you supposed to be at home helping your mom?"

The youth pulled up a chair and sat down, greeting Alphonse in a similar fashion. It was funny, seeing how his boy had grown over the last fourteen years. Golden hair, big blue eyes, and a smile that only could have come from Winry. And still, Edward could see a bit of himself in his son. A bit high-strung and curious, but with every redeeming quality that his mother possessed. Sweet, loving, and one hell of a mechanic. And, all the same, their boy had turned out looking a lot like himself at that age.

Still, that was something he didn't think about too often.

"So, what brings you here? Did your mom send you to find me?" Edward laughed, waving the waitress over. He raised a hand as his son opened his mouth to speak. "Never mind. We can talk about that later. For now, we should just eat!"

Edward grinned, slamming the fork down into his meal before bringing it to his lips. Strangely, the only thing he ended up shoveling into his mouth was an empty piece of metal that tasted a bit like wood.

"Ed, that can wait," Alphonse said, having pulled the plate away. He smiled gently. "You two should catch up. You can always eat later."

The older Elric sighed, leaning back in his chair so as to admit defeat. "All right. You got me," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. He smiled gently, looking into Winston's eyes. "So, what is it you wanted to talk about? Anything good happen while I was away? You catch any good-looking fish?"

Winston, hands behind his back, sighed. "I walked by the house today," he said quietly.

"Is that what's bothering you? Look, it's not a big deal, Win," Edward laughed. "It's nothing for you to be ashamed of, being curious as to where your dad got his start. In fact, I'm glad. I was always a bit afraid that you'd brush off your heritage when you got to be this age." He clapped a hand over Winston's shoulder. "I'm proud that it's something you're interested in."

The youth smiled sheepishly, shifting a bit. "Thanks, Dad." He looked up, blue eyes still worried. "But that's not what I came to talk to you about."

Edward opened his mouth to speak, but Winston knocked the air right out of his lungs, pushing an all-too-familiar item onto the table. He reached for it, speechless, his fingers grazing the cover. Yes, he remembered this well. All the joy and sorrow that came with it, as well. Wild dreams that only little boys could come up with. Dreams where the world, and everything in it, was one perfect, happy place.

The book that started it all.

He trembled, almost too afraid to speak. "Where did you find this?"

"I saw it on your shelf a while ago, but I kept forgetting about it." Winston leaned forward, looking rather fearful. "You don't tell me anything about it, about alchemy. I know it's some kind of science, but..."

Edward slammed his hand on the table, rising from his chair. "It's not for you to know!" he shouted, far louder than he needed to. "You can't... You can't know. It's not safe."

"But, Dad...!"

"That's enough, Winston!" Edward turned away, sweeping the book out of his son's reach before heading for the door. He stepped outside, sighing as he trudged down the dirt road. "Some things just aren't worth knowing."


	2. Tying Them Down

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 2: **Tying Them Down

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><p>"Edward? Edward, what's wrong? Where's Winston?"<p>

She couldn't help peppering him with questions, as he'd just walked right past her without a word. It had been raining when he came back, his clothes soaked through and covered with mud. He'd completely ignored her, taking a seat on the sofa before throwing that familiar book across the room. Upon recovering it, Winry saw that it was also wet, several pages torn out of it. It would warp for sure.

Even after seventeen years, he didn't tell her anything. At least, not without a fight. It wasn't that he was private, but that he wasn't particularly skilled with words. That's why, all that time ago, she'd always been afraid of what he would do next. Both he and Alphonse had kept her in the dark for the longest time.

Now, she felt that it was happening again.

Closing the door, Winry crossed the room, heading into the kitchen to heat up something for him to drink. Leaving the kettle on the stove, she came back, kneeling beside him, her hand on his.

"Ed," she whispered quietly, "what happened?"

He sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Edward's eyes closed, his hand moving away from hers only to be pressed against his forehead in frustration.

She'd seen that face a number of times in the past, usually when something had thrown a wrench in his plans, in his greatest desires. He'd cried before, but she doubted that it had ever been enough for all the pain. Winry headed to the closet, pulling out a soft white towel before sitting on the sofa beside him, throwing the soft cloth around him, her head resting on his shoulder. A part of her wanted him to cry, to let everything out so that he could let it go. He tried so hard to be strong, to be a good husband, father, and brother.

But, sometimes, he just tried too hard.

"He found it, Winry," he whispered, shaking slightly. "He wanted me to tell him... about alchemy."

Her eyes widened, causing her to sit upright. Alchemy was what had started that whole mess, putting her husband and brother through all that misery. They'd come out of it all right, not completely unscathed, but it was a lesson, a journey, that they could never forget. Then again, she couldn't forget about it either.

All the days she'd spent waiting, hoping they'd come back in one piece. Looking for letters, hoping that, when the phone rang, it would be Edward on the other end. And then, finally, they'd limped back down that dirt road, grinning like the two goofy boys she'd grown up with.

"You didn't tell him, did you, Ed?" She tried to keep her voice level, to push the fear and anxiety from it. She didn't want him to know how much she resented that science.

Edward shook his head, water rolling out of his hair to slap the floor. "I thought about it. Really, I did. I've thought about it a lot. And, every time, I've decided against it." He looked at her through his fingers, a sad glow in his eye. "I couldn't give it to him, a gift and a curse. I was afraid that he'd go off and do something stupid, just like Al and I did."

That's right. If Edward had told their son about alchemy, about why he'd kept it a secret, Winston would ask that dreaded question: Why? He'd want to understand the ins and outs of the ancient art, and know exactly why, down to the last letter, his father had hidden it from him.

She reached over, taking his hand and settling it onto his knee before turning his face towards her own.

"I'm glad you didn't, Ed. Even if Winston wants to know, it's best if he doesn't." Winry paused, her head bowed. "I couldn't go through that again, you know. The waiting, the worrying. The fear of death lingering over this house."

Edward pulled her to him, his chin resting atop her head, hugging her. "I know, Winry. I'm sorry."

"You big oaf," she laughed. "You don't have to apologize for all that now. But..." She wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering with a smile. "The least you could do is go change your clothes. You're cold and soaking wet."

****# - # - # - #****

"You're okay," Alphonse whispered, patting his nephew's back. The rain was coming down in sheets outside the windows of the inn, and that made him hesitant about venturing out to head back to Edward's. Besides, it was a good idea to keep the two of them separated for a while, so as to avoid stirring the pot. "It's okay, Win. Brother's not _really _angry with you. He's just stubborn, that's all. He'll get over it. I promise."

Really, Winston was very much a boy, despite his age. He was clever, welcoming, and one that the majority of Risembool's citizens knew and loved. That wasn't to say that he didn't have faults. He did. A number of times, after Alphonse had come back from Xing with Mei, he'd caught his brother's son trying to steal candy out of a display in the grocery store, or fighting with kids twice his size and age.

In fact, Winston had been known as a troublemaker for the longest time. A lot of the villagers were still pretty questioning about him and his motives. Some called him lazy. A good-for-nothing who sat down by the river day after day, looking for a good time with his rod and a handful of bait instead of going to school or helping his mother with her customers.

But Alphonse knew better.

"He'll hate me," came the reply, more of a whimper than anything else. He was shuddering, hands thrown over his head and buried in his hair. "I-I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have brought the book, but... I wanted to know why Dad doesn't say anything about it. About alchemy."

Alphonse cringed as his nephew stared up at him, tears in his eyes.

"Brother doesn't hate anyone," he said, trying to sound comforting. "He just... blows things out of proportion. That's just how he is. Maybe he used to hate people, people who did horrible things to our world, to our friends, but he's grown up a lot since then. He's a better man than he used to be."

He remembered everything about those days. The blood, the tears, the people who died and fought for their dream. He could never forget the sacrifices, the things those dear friends had lost.

Alphonse didn't have children of his own, not walking around at least, but he knew how much Edward cared about his son. He remembered what his brother had said not hours after Winston had been born. Edward had cradled the softest little bundle in his arms, smiling fondly.

"I want to be better than they were, Al," he'd said. "I want his life to have what we didn't all that time. A father, a mother... A family like ours, just... complete. I'll be there for him, through hell and highwater. I'll give him what our father couldn't give us."

Soft green eyes settled on Winston, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

"We made a mistake, Win," he said quietly. "And we paid for it. That's why brother didn't tell you everything. He didn't want you to go down our road. He wants more than that for you. He wants you to have the things we didn't. A life with as little suffering as possible."

"Why can't you just tell me what happened, Uncle? Dad wouldn't be mad at you, right? You're his brother. You've always been there. He couldn't hate you."

_He couldn't hate you, either_, Alphonse thought, shaking his head.

Maybe Edward wouldn't hate him, but he'd be going against the silent pact that they'd made with each other. One that stated they'd never subject their own children to the dangers of alchemy. No matter how enchanting and magical it had been for them in their youth.

"It's not my place," he said, smiling. "If brother wants to tell you, then that's his right. I'd be going behind his back to tell you our story, and, if anyone should tell you, then it's your dad." Alphonse squeezed the boy's shoulder. "He'll tell you when the time is right. He _loves _you, Winston. He's there for you, always. I only wish that we had someone to say that to us, too."

But it wasn't enough, his words. Edward was stubborn to a fault, and it was no surprise that his son had picked up on that same behavior. Even the look in their eyes was the same. A simple "he'll tell you when the time is right" clearly wasn't enough.

Based solely upon that gleam, Alphonse knew that this boy would find a way to pull those secrets away.


	3. The Nightmare Cannot Be Dispelled

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 3: **The Nightmare Cannot Be Dispelled

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><p>Winston had returned late that night with his uncle. He'd ignored the man's words, simply striding into the house and up the stairs without so much as a peep to either of his parents. His room was the only place he deemed safe enough for his heavy heart. He'd thrown himself on the bed, staring quietly at the ceiling. He'd been stupid to bring up a touchy subject like alchemy with his father. He should have known that his questions wouldn't yield any results.<p>

So he had set about to sleep the night away, unaware of the frightful images that would plague his subconscious mind.

Fragments of memories were laid out before him, spiraling down into what appeared to be a stone well. But, looking into it, he saw that there was nothing, not even water. It was as if everything he'd seen had simply up and vanished into the air that passed through his lungs. And then, as he looked up, she was there. Small, tender, standing serenely in the tall yellow grass that fall would always bring.

He reached for her, eager to speak her name, only to be muted by an unknown force. So he chased after her, frightened that, somehow, she'd slip far away.

But she just stood there, a blank look on a face that wasn't hers. In fact, it was the face that he'd imagined she would have grown into, had nature been kind enough to allow it. Then, in a flash, she was gone, easily replaced by that sinking feeling in his stomach, the dreaded stone standing before him.

"Why?" it whispered sadly. "Why was it me... instead of _you_?"

He fell to the ground, watching it crumble beneath his knees. He couldn't scream, he couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe, and yet he was alive.

Photographs flew around him like snow in a violent storm, moving far too swiftly for his eyes to follow. It was numbing, trying to keep up with their speed. So much so, that he felt he might vomit were it to go on any longer. At that very minute, the world ceased, sending him flying into the dirt, a tang of salt in his mouth.

"It should have been you, Win," she said, staring down at him. She pointed a small finger at him, her form shrinking to that which he remembered. The tip grazed his nose, his eyes wide as she spoke again. "_I_ should have lived, and _you_ should have _died._"

He was awake, but unable to open his eyes to escape from the nightmare. It was horrid, hearing that solid fact roll about in his mind. It wasn't often, but it was certain to drive him mad one of these days. It was only when his mother called his name that Winston gasped, staring up into her smiling face.

"Breakfast time," she said, touching his hair. "Get yourself cleaned up, and come on down. Your aunt and uncle are waiting, you know."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Winston nodded, watching as his mother stepped quietly out of the room. He sat up, arching his back as he stretched, staring absently out the window. He didn't know how to spend the day. Sure, he could go to the schoolhouse and see if there were any new books for him to bring back, but it was much more interesting to hang around the house and help his mother with customers.

Winston smiled to himself, remembering that he still had homework he hadn't yet finished. It had sat on the table in the corner of his room for the better part of three days, completely ignored. Had his mother been more lenient on the matter, he would have set a match to it, saying that equations and grammar exercises weren't important for a boy his age. But, were he to do that, he knew that she'd get after him for it.

Maybe, once his aunt and uncle left, he'd stop skipping class. It wasn't often that he got to see them.

Climbing out of bed, Winston padded our the door and into the bathroom, splashing his face with the water that had been set out for such an occasion. He then turned down the hallway, noting that his parents' bedroom door was still closed. His father must have still been sleeping.

Good. Winston didn't really want to face him yet, anyway.

Maybe, to escape the tension, he'd go back down to the river or run errands in town. Really, he'd do anything to get away from his father.

"Winston!" his mother called from the bottom of the stairs. "Come down, please!"

He nodded, though she couldn't see, and flew down the steps to where Marla sat, wagging her tail in greeting. Winston knelt beside her, fingers running through the dog's soft black coat, scratching behind her ears. He had half a mind to take her outside for a morning run, but he'd likely get in trouble for ignoring his mother's request to attend breakfast. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, cheek pressed against the side of her head as he promised to take her out later.

As if in understanding, Marla licked his hand.

Leading her into the kitchen, Winston was surprised to see his father sitting there beside his uncle, looking just as uncomfortable as he felt. Normally, after his father's return, Winston would have settled himself into the seat beside him, assaulting the man with questions about what he'd seen in Central. He'd never been outside Risembool, so all he knew of the world outside its rolling hills was what he'd seen in books.

"Winston..."

The youth cringed, his hand tightening around Marla's collar. She whimpered, sensing his tension, but he remained still. Through the hair that hung in his eyes, Winston could see that his father looked less than pleased. About what, he wasn't sure, but he still had a pretty good idea.

He was still mad that Winston had brought up the concept of alchemy.

He turned, ready to make a break for the door, but a hand fell upon his shoulder, pulling him back. Winston flinched, feeling very much like a child again. He couldn't say anything for fear of being ridiculed, even punished. Not that his parents had ever been hard on him. He just didn't want it to start.

So he pulled away from the hand, not bothering to see who it belonged to as he ran, sprinting to the door and out into the morning sun with Marla. She barked, a sound that he interpreted as being encouragement for him to escape. And he did. Winston ran down the road and through the grass, jumping fences and running through pastures. It didn't matter if people saw him, still dressed in his nightclothes. As soon as his father was away or busy, he'd go back.

He ran to the river, falling in as Marla stopped ahead of him at the bank, the water chilling him. She barked again, tromping through the shallows to reach him. Winston laughed, hugging her when she was close enough. Had he wanted to, he'd have invited some of his friends to spend the day with him. But Marla was enough. She'd been there abut as long as he, and they'd been together all along.

"What do you think, Marla?" he said, climbing out onto the bank, lying down in the warm dirt. "Do you think it should have been me? That I should have been the one to die?"

The dog looked at him sadly, her nose nudging the side of his face as she whimpered. Of course she wouldn't think that. She loved him too much.

"It was my fault, you know," Winston murmured, watching her shake out her fur. "It was my idea to come down here that summer. To catch fish myself when Dad told me not to." He pressed his hands to his face, grimacing. "It was my fault that Matilda got hurt. If I had listened, she wouldn't have followed me."

That's right. It was his fault that Matilda was gone.

****# - # - # - #****

"Edward, you should go after him," Winry said, pulling a pan off the stove.

He hung his head, ignoring the fact that Alphonse and Mei were staring at him with quiet eyes. Knowing Alphonse, he'd have something to say. Some well-planned, logical reason that he'd present to him for going after his son. But Edward knew his boy. He was every bit as stubborn as he'd been at that age, and Alphonse was certain to know that. So, going after him, and at such a critical moment, wouldn't yield any real results.

Winston wouldn't know, not until he got over his fear, but Edward wasn't mad at him. Sure, his son had done reckless things before, things that he'd gotten in trouble for in the past. But this, bringing to life the questions that he himself had had as a boy, wasn't anything for him to be upset over. It was just childish curiosity, and Winston wanted to know why the mere mention of alchemy was taboo in this house.

"Brother." Alphonse sat down beside him, nudging him with a fist. "You should tell him, you know. I think it scares him, not knowing why you hate alchemy."

Edward smiled faintly, giving his brother a push. "You idiot," he said. "I don't hate it. I just don't see any point in teaching him about it. Winston doesn't need to know about the magic and the wonder alchemy brings, because..."

"You're afraid he'll make our mistake," Alphonse finished. He leaned over, his arms circling Edward's shoulders. "Ed, Win's smarter than that. If you talk to him, then he'll understand just how important it is to follow the laws. And, unlike us, he has a father who knows the dangers of sin."

Maybe he was right. Winston _was _a lot smarter than Edward often remembered. But, as a parent, he still had to worry. After all, Winston was _his _boy, and it was the duty of a father to worry about his son. And it didn't help much that he saw so much of himself in the boy. But maybe it was as Alphonse had said. With the proper guidance, he could teach Winston, and count on the fact that he'd respect the laws that had been set about in the past.

He pushed off from the table, the chair scraping against the floor.

"Edward..."

"I'll eat later," he said as Winry circled around to meet him. "I'll bring him back, Winry. Don't worry."

She smiled, ushering him towards the door. "Just don't fill his head with too much nonsense."

****# - # - # - #****

"I should've known you'd be down here."

Winston sat upright, eyes wide as he spied his father coming down the road. He wanted to bolt, to get as far away from him as possible, but the look on his face was different. Happy, almost. As if he'd remembered some fond dream from long ago. So, he held his ground, the river water reaching up to slap at his ankles.

He sat still, waiting until his father had taken a seat beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Aw, what's with that look, Win?" he laughed, shaking the youth. "You're not afraid of me, are ya?"

Winston shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry I went in your office... Found the book. I didn't know you'd get so upset about it. I-I should've..."

"We made a mistake, Win. Al and I made a big mistake, and we paid for it," his father said, eyes forward.

He'd heard that line at least a hundred times before, but he'd never learned the significance behind it. Having heard it the first time as a boy, Winston had believed that his father had been talking about the Civil War in Ishbal. That, maybe, his father and uncle had gotten caught up in something that they couldn't handle. That, maybe, that was why his father only had one real leg. But, he'd decided, if that was the case, it didn't make sense that his uncle had walked out unscathed.

What really happened?

It was a question that he was burning to ask, to have an answer to. But he was afraid to know the truth. Maybe his father had done something wrong, something that he'd done time for. Maybe he'd killed someone, even if in self-defense. Really, Winston was afraid that the truth would reveal to him a side of his father that was best left hidden.

"Our mother died, Win." The words were solemn, strained. He could see that it hurt for his father to speak them. Winston felt a hand being rested upon his head, his father's knees coming to meet his chest. "She was everything to us after our father left. When she died, we didn't know what to do. We just wanted to be happy, to see her smile again. That's where alchemy came into the picture. Our father had a study in that old house where he'd keep all his research material. We already knew enough of the science to create simple things, flowers, dolls, even glass animals. When she died, we thought we could fix it. That there was a way to bring her back."

For a moment, his father looked like a child to his eyes. A little boy who dared to dream the dream that no one else thought possible. It's name had been resurrection.

"What happened?" he asked, suddenly eager. "What happened? Did... Did it work? Did she come back?"

His father's golden eyes were stern, the calm and fondness having fled them. They were iron, burning into his own. His hands closing tightly around Winston's arms as he shook his head.

"You can't bring the dead back to life, Winston," his father stated firmly. "Do you understand? There is no formula, no science, no magic in the world that can reverse the decisions of nature. The dead aren't meant to rise again. They're meant to rest."

Winston felt something tug at his hair, his eyes moving to where Marla had sat moments before. The dog was gone, replaced with that face again. That tiny, loving little girl who had lay in that very spot years before, drenching the ground as he screamed. She looked at him, her gaze sad as she trembled, shaking her head at him.

"Why, Win?" she asked. "Why'd you let me die? Why didn't you listen to Papa?"

The boy shook, unable to look away. The dead were supposed to rest in peace, right? Then why was she here? Why was she still haunting him after so long? Why couldn't she just go away and soar among the stars?

"Teach me," he said. "I want you to teach me."

His father's eyes widened, his grip suddenly gone. He was hesitant, that contemplative look upon his face as he processed Winston's words.

"I want you to teach me, Dad," he said again.

"It's not safe," came the reply. "I should know. The world I grew up with was ravaged with war and hatred because of alchemy. I won't let you live that life."

Winston wanted to scream, "The world's different! Why can't you understand that things have changed? That things are better than they were?" but he knew it was useless. His father, knowing the dangers of this science, wouldn't allow it to fall into his hands.

"I'm sorry, Winston. It's not safe for you, or for anyone." A fond smile. "I want you to have something better than I did. A life that has as little turbulence as possible. Even though alchemy was our whole world, it's not something I want for you. No matter how appealing it is, it's a double-edged sword. It's like living your whole life inside a dream."


	4. Boy With A Coin

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 4: **Boy With A Coin

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><p>It felt good, finally knowing what it was his father did when he went away. He'd go to Central City, the nation's capital, to teach Physics to a group of college students. He wasn't a permanent part of the class, but he'd go away whenever the professor needed his help. That certainly explained the mass of science tests that filled his father's office shelves.<p>

Still, it didn't seem quite right. Sometimes, he'd be gone for weeks at a time, rarely calling to check up on the house. There was no way that a college Physics course could last that long. Besides, his father had been doing this for years, from what he'd said, and Winston was afraid that there was something else going on.

He just didn't know what.

From the morning that his father had relayed a part of that tale, he'd continued asking him questions until his father had finished what must have been the most important part, wherein he and Winston's uncle had failed their ritual to resurrect their mother, thus ending up with automail limbs and a body of steel. When he'd pressed his questions further, his father handed him a history book.

The publication date read off as 1921, the year after Winston had been born.

He'd spent a few good days reading it, surprised to see his father's photograph within the book's pages. It stated that Edward Elric had become the old Amestrian military's fabled FullMetal Alchemist at the age of twelve, and that he had gone on to serve and save his country from a plot to destroy the nation's inhabitants.

Winston had always known that his father was a great man, but not a military hero.

Although he now knew the full story, give or take a few key pieces, Winston still hadn't been sated. He was certain that his father was hiding something crucial about his work in Central City. And, if his father had his secrets, then there was no reason for Winston to feel bad about having some of his own.

For the last month, Winston had gone to school as his mother had requested, completely ignoring the lessons so that he could read the alchemy books he'd siphoned from his father's office. Of course, she never knew the difference, as he kept up with his homework, and his father was busy working on automail so often that Winston doubted he'd notice anything was really missing.

Fortunately, he'd been right.

He'd stay up late, a candle in the corner of his room so he could read. To him, this knowledge was a real treasure. Far greater than anything else he could have imagined. There were no riches, no palaces of glittering gold, that could compare the the ideas, the possibilities, contained in the pages of these alchemy books. The stories were like a novel, sending his mind spinning with questions to which he had to know the answer. That's why he'd keep on like this. He'd find a way around his father's mistake, and learn how to make his parents happy again.

It was his drive, that horrible memory of that summer day. He'd been a boy, foolish in every way imaginable, disobedient in regards to his parents' wishes. It was that childishness that had cost them all something dear.

It was his fault that their Matilda had died.

****# - # - # - #****

"Win! Hey, Win, wait up!"

The boy made a face, throwing a clump of dirt at his sister as she ran, the bow in her hair poking up out of the grass. She squealed as it hit her, promising that she'd be telling on him for being so mean. Winston, not worried in the slightest, laughed at her, egging her on with names and small throwing stones.

"C'mon, Matti!" he laughed, climbing up on a fence post. "You're not gonna catch me if you keep towing that stupid doll around. Just leave it! She's not worth anything, anyway!"

Matilda jumped, her head hovering above the grass for a minute. Her face was scrunched up, her lower lip sticking out as she tried to throw a rock at him.

"You're so mean, Win!" she whined as he dodged. "I hate you! I'm gonna tell Papa on you if you don't come home right now!"

Winston laughed again, hopping off the fence and back into the grass. He waited until she'd caught up before pinching her nose, snatching the doll right out of her hand. She screamed, smacking him in the side as he held the doll high above her head, grinning. She was going to tell on him, was she? Going to get him in trouble? Well, not if he had anything to say about it.

He darted through the gap in the fence, waving the cloth figure behind him as his sister began to follow him, crying. She was too slow, he decided. But, he'd play fair. If she could tag him once before he got across the river, then he'd give her stupid doll back without any conditions.

The tall grass mingled with the colors of the childrens' hair, making them look like bolts of bright lightning as they ran across the rolling hills, leaving trails in the greenery. Matilda wailed behind him, causing Winston to laugh even more as he came to a stop by the river, swinging her toy around over his head. Suddenly, the cloth hand vanished from his grip, sending the doll flying high over the rolling water, only to land on the opposite bank.

Winston stared at it with wide eyes. He'd have to go across to get it back, and, if he didn't, he'd been in even more trouble. But his father had always told him not to cross the river without an adult there to help. That way, there was no chance he'd be caught up in the downhill sweep.

"Win_ston_!" Matilda shouted, emerging from the grass. "I hate you! I'm telling Papa that you took my doll, _and _that you hit me! Papa's gonna spank you good!"

He scowled, waving a hand at her. "Aw, be quiet, Matti," he said, kicking a pebble. "I'll get your dumb doll, just quit your whining."

Matilda stomped her foot, running at him. "No! I'm gonna get her myself, you meanie!"

She had her arms stretched forward as if she planned to run him right into the river. Wintson's eyes widened as she drew closer, tears still rolling down her round cheeks. He sidestepped her, slipping and falling into the dirt, leaving his sister to fly into the river.

"Matti!" he shouted, reaching for her. "Matti, hang on!"

But Matilda was gone, screaming as she surfaced, paddling for dear life. Winston ran along the riverbank, the doll completely forgotten. He didn't care that he'd get into trouble if he saved her. He just had to. She was his sister, after all. He was supposed to tease her, to be mean to her, and even keep her from getting hurt. As he ran, his eyes settled on a long stick, twice his own height. He grabbed hold of it, still running to keep up with his sister as he held the stick out to her, shouting for her to grab on.

She reached for it, her fingers falling short as she bobbed within the swell. He should have known better, taking her down to the river the day after a rainstorm. It was always the most dangerous after the rain, as the river was deeper than usual.

Winston gasped, terrified when he saw that the river was starting to go downhill. He shouted, hoping that one of the farmers in the pasture would hear him, would come to their rescue. But they didn't, just kept going about their business as they tended to their cattle, leaving the little boy to scream as his sister, now beneath the water again, slipped away down the river, falling into the dip in the valley.

He wanted to run, to pretend that it had been an accident; to say that Matilda had gone off on her own. But that would be lying, and his parents always knew when he did that. If he didn't try to save her from drowning, he was sure that they'd hate him. So, Winston ran down the hill, praying that Matilda would be all right. When he got to the bottom, he found her, floating on her stomach in the now calm water. He waded out into the shallows, grabbing hold of the back of her floral dress before pulling her upright, dragging her away from the river bed and laying her out on the dirt.

She wasn't breathing.

Winston called her name, rolling her over so as to slap her back, hoping that she'd cough up all the water and be okay. But she didn't. She remained perfectly still, hair plastered to the side of her face. He nudged her, in hopes that she was just messing with him.

"Matti?" he said, shaking. "Hey, Matti, wake up. I-I'm sorry about your doll, okay? I didn't mean it. I'll go... get..."

"Win! Matti!" a familiar voice called from across the pasture. "Where are you? Mama's got your snack ready! Win! Matti!"

Winston bolted, running through the grass in tears. He ignored the farmer who had spotted him, shouting for him to get out of his field and stop frightening his cows and horses. But Winston ignored him. He had to make it to the fence, to his father, so he could explain that it was an accident.

"Daddy!" he shouted, crawling through the fence to hug his father's knee. "Daddy, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It was an accident! I didn't mean for her to fall in! I'm sorry, Daddy! I'm sorry!"

His father picked him up, a hand on his back as he apologized to the farmer for the disturbance. But when Winston kept crying, insisting that they had to to back to the river for his sister, his father's eyes had widened. It was then that they took off, the farmer having stated that he'd ride into town and find help. Back through the pasture they went, Winston sobbing and apologizing all the while.

When his father put him down to lead the way, Winston ran as quickly as his legs could carry him, calling out his sister's name.

"Here, Daddy!" he said, slipping through the other end of the fence. Winston ran back through the water, stopping at his sister's side. "Matti's here, Daddy! Over here!"

"Oh, no..."

The shame was immediate, his head bowed as his father knelt beside her, working to get Matilda to breathe. Winston had never seen him look so afraid. Golden eyes wide, mouth agape, pleading. When she didn't respond, his father took her in his arms, her little head resting against his shoulder. He turned, looking at Winston who began to cry again.

"Daddy, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."

His father nodded sadly, a hand resting on Winston's head.

"I know, Win," he said, picking him up. "I know..."

****# - # - # - #****

"I'm so sorry, Matti," Winston whispered, her photograph in his hand. "I didn't mean to..."

He turned, crossing his room to the chest that sat at the foot of his bed. Opening it, he slipped a hand inside until it rested upon that familiar cloth doll, the one that he'd taken from his sister that day. If he hadn't been so foolish, making a game where one wasn't needed, then she would have been alive and happy.

Not like him.

Really, the dream was right. It was his fault, and it should have been him who had fallen into the river and drowned. Matilda hadn't deserved that. She'd just been trying to talk him into going back the house so that he wouldn't get into trouble. Yes, she'd gone about it the wrong way, but what could he expect of a four-year-old girl?

That's why he'd lied to his father; why he'd promised not to misuse the information entrusted to him. Certainly, his father would be angry with him, but Winston knew it couldn't last. With this treasure clasped firmly in his hand, he'd find his way around the mistakes that had been made by his father and uncle, and he'd make their world a happy place again.

He'd find the secret to that taboo, to Human Transmutation, and Matilda would be as alive and happy as she'd ever been.


	5. Emily

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 5: **Emily

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><p>Really, he didn't want Winston to come home. Edward hoped that his son would go down to the river as he did every day, and stay there until dusk. That way, he wouldn't have any reason to question why his father had decided to retire to bed early. It certainly wasn't something he did often, and he knew it would raise suspicions.<p>

It must have been coming for a while now, the illness, as it was already spreading through Central City like wildfire. Hospitals had been quarantined while he'd been present there, and people had been afraid to so much as greet one another for fear of contracting this unknown virus. Children, many of them younger than seven, had died within the time that Edward had been in Central. It would taste a lie to say that their deaths hadn't affected him.

Regardless, he hadn't told anyone what he'd really been doing in Central all this time. Not even Winry. It was dangerous, his profession, but it was something that easily helped people, despite all the trouble it caused Edward himself. That's why he was like this, lying in bed with a fever and stomach pains.

"You'll feel better in a few days," she said, stroking his hair. "Do you want something to eat? It's almost dinnertime."

Edward nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Hey, Winry? You think you could make that stew Granny used to?"

He watched as she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Winry had said told him that it was probably just a cold or some sort of flu, but Edward knew better. He had only agreed with her so as to keep her from crying again.

Because, really, he hated it when she cried.

****# - # - # - #****

"I thought about a lot of things today, Matti," Winston said, head bowed as he touched her name. "I thought about what happened, what I did to you all that time ago. You know..." He smiled. "If I hadn't teased you that day, you'd almost be twelve."

That's right. Her birthday would be coming up soon, and she wouldn't be here to celebrate it. Again. But, just like every year, he and their parents did it in her honor. There wasn't cake, presents, and a big fuss, but a quiet evening for the family wherein they talked about her, looked at her photos, and just remembered all the love that she'd given them in her four years of life.

But Winston hated it. It was always the same feeling that gave him nightmares in the weeks that followed that day. He'd dream of holding her in his arms for the first time, promising that he'd protect her. Mostly from bugs, but he'd meant well just the same. And he'd failed her.

That's why he had to do this, although quietly. His parents didn't have to know, because they were certain to try and stop him. He couldn't let that happen, because, in the long run, it would be best for everyone. They could all be happy, and they could be a real family again. Forever. And with no regrets, no bad blood, and no more tears for their lost one. And, for him, no more waking in a cold sweat.

Winston reached into his bag, tenderly cradling the doll in his hands. After all this time, her hair, made of yarn, was starting to fall apart. There were frayed edges on her dress, and a couple of holes from the fabric's age. Her hands, sewn by their Granny Pinako out of a soft white cloth, were now graying, from both wear and dirt. But, knowing Matilda, she wouldn't have cared. She would have loved this doll regardless of the way she looked. Matilda would have kept holding onto her, because someone she loved had given it to her.

This doll, named Emily, was a reminder of his mistake. But it was time he let her go. He'd correct it soon enough, and Matilda could hold her friend again.

It hurt, setting her little cloth body on the grass, propped up against his sister's stone. He held onto her, his fingers wrapped tightly around Emily's little arm. He felt the fabric's texture, the way the softness had long-since gone away. It reminded him of his heart. He imagined that it was no longer warm and tender like it used to be.

Winston stood, staring down at the doll as Marla nudged his hand with her nose. He smiled, rubbing her head with a sigh. It would be different from now on, happier. He'd right his wrong and give everyone something to smile about again. It was his duty, and a promise he'd made, not only to himself, but to Matilda. Were he to break another promise he'd made to her, Winston was certain that, wherever she was, she'd never forgive him. And he couldn't live with that.

Marla yipped behind him, causing Winston to turn towards the house. From the window upstairs, he could see a light blinking at him, his mother's shadow hovering.

He smiled, hands shoved into his pockets as he strode out of the cemetery.


	6. Death Is Slow

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

**Chapter 6: **Death Is Slow

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><p>He hung his head, his mouth quiet. There were no words he could say that would make this easier on her. It hurt him, too, but they'd given their lives to one another, had children together. And, by default, that put him in third place. But he didn't mind. That was how it was supposed to be. A man was supposed to love his wife, his children, more than his brother, more than his past. That didn't mean that he was out of the circle, just that he was closer to the outside of it.<p>

Alphonse was fine with that.

But this, watching Winry cry in his arms, wasn't supposed to be happening. He didn't know what was going on any more than she did. He'd only come by when she'd sent Winston into town to fetch him. Given the way his nephew had delivered the message, he didn't know anything either. The boy had simply told him that Edward had fallen ill, and that his mother insisted he come and bring the doctor. Alphonse had done just that, and it had led to this.

"Why didn't he tell me, Al?" she whispered, head resting on his knee. "He promised... Edward promised he'd tell me everything."

Alphonse didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell her that everything would be all right, that his brother had had his reasons for not telling her about this, whatever it was. But, in the long run, it would be better that he say nothing. That way, he wouldn't be drawn into the loop when Winry chewed Edward out.

The sound of footsteps came from the stairwell, the doctor looking rather solemn as he settled on the ground floor. He looked at Alphonse, shaking his head, motioning for the man to follow him into the next room. Looking to Mei to take care of Winry, Alphonse stood, wandering back into the kitchen with the doctor, closing the door behind him.

"It's not good news, is it?" he asked, hands in his back pockets.

The older man shook his head again. "I'm afraid not," he said, lifting his sleeve to glance at his watch. "Your brother, Mr. Elric, is very ill. I regret to say that there is no way of positively confirming the diagnosis, but I believe, based on the symptoms, that it is polio."

"What?"

That couldn't be. Alphonse was no doctor, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was certain that polio didn't _have _symptoms.

"Most people don't know this, Mr. Elric, but rare cases can produce symptoms that fail to appear regularly. In any case," the doctor looked down at his notes, "stomach pains and a sore throat could be misinterpreted as nothing less than a common cold. The confirming factors for your brother were pneumonia and partial paralysis of the lower limbs."

Alphonse nodded, unsure as to what to say. If the doctor was right, then what would he tell Winry and Winston, and how would they react? Well, he knew what Winry would do. She'd keep on as she was, crying and feeling hurt for a while until she turned on Edward as she usually did, demanding to know why he'd kept this a secret. Really, his brother deserved it. He was supposed to have grown out of his stubborn streak. His "I can't say anything because I'm protecting her" phase of life. They were supposed to confide in each other.

Now Winston was another story. He was like Alphonse, sensitive. He had a gentle heart, and a hard time dealing with things that he believed to be his fault. Maybe that was why he'd stayed outside with the dog, staring towards the lights of town. A good thing. Winston wouldn't take this news lightly. And, given the fact that Edward had relented to his son's questions in regards to alchemy, Alphonse had more reason to worry.

He thanked the doctor, walking back out into the front room to see him out the door, stepping outside.

"Is Dad gonna die?"

Alphonse raised an eyebrow. He should have expected a question like that. Winston wasn't stupid. He sat down beside the boy, who had his chin resting on his knees. Looking at him, Alphonse saw himself on the day his mother had died. He'd sat by her grave, staring at her stone, asking Edward how they were going to survive. He imagined that Winston was thinking very much the same thing.

"I don't know, Win. I hope not. I can't imagine a world without Brother."

****# - # - # - #****

"Edward Elric, explain yourself right this minute!" Winry shouted, glowering at him. She was furious, close to blowing a fuse right there in front of Mei. She didn't care if she embarrassed him. From the start, he should have told her that something was wrong, that he was sick with something like this. A disease that didn't have a cure. "Dammit, Ed!"

His eyes widened as he tried to wiggle further back into the bed, hands raised in front of him as a form of defense. It looked rather pathetic, the idea that he was trying to be strong while still so weak.

"I just... I didn't want to worry you... Make you cry..."

"Well, what does this look like to you, Ed? Haven't you learned anything? You can't do this kind of thing on your own, all right? You can't expect that everyone will have faith in you... You have to trust people, too..."

He hung his head, nodding, peering out at her with wounded eyes. She knew she didn't have to yell, but he'd done it again. He'd kept another secret from her, and the kind that, no matter what he thought, had a drastic effect on her. But, she supposed, old habits died hard. Especially when you were a stubborn, scientific genius by the name of Edward Elric. Mei then tapped her on the shoulder, stating that she'd be downstairs preparing something warm for the family to eat. Winry nodded and watched her go, closing the door as soon as she was heading down the stairs.

She stood there, eyes burning. She wouldn't cry, she decided. Even if it made her feel better by letting go of the stress, she wouldn't do it. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of getting the better of her. So she sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers pressed tightly against the wooden frame. Her back to him, Winry smiled, wondering just how she'd fallen in love with a stupid man like him.

"I'm sorry, Winry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

She would have known, even if he hadn't mentioned it. She'd always known that being silent, keeping her in the dark, had been hard for him. It had always been his way of protecting her from the trouble he was getting into. Fighting immortals, breaking bones and automail, damaging streets, trudging through feet of snow. Through all of that, she'd somehow known the intentions of his heart. How sorry he was for his mistakes, how much he wanted to make things right, how he felt it his duty to repair the damages he'd done.

His ways of protecting those he loved had always been stupid, but she'd been just as foolish for expecting him to change. To be someone that he wasn't.

She half expected him to come to her, only to realize that he couldn't. Winry stood, walking around to his side of the bed before slipping in behind him, her hand resting on his forehead as he leaned back, his head against her shoulder. Her other arm secured itself around his waist, fingers brushing through his hair as she pressed her cheek into the soft mess. She couldn't stay mad at him, no matter what he did.

"You're an idiot, Ed," she whispered. "But I love you."

****# - # - # - #****

He was ill, and it was an undeniable fact. A disease that rendered men helpless, if they didn't die of the pneumonia that accompanied it first. He felt helpless, a child with his hands tied securely behind his back. He could do nothing, say nothing, that would make all of this better. An apology, and a day of remembrance for the dead, would do little to help his father's condition. So he sat on the rooftop, far beneath the stars, fingers pulling at a loose nail that his father had used to patch up a hole in the attic in the past year.

Winston wanted to cry. He wanted to know just how the world could look so serene and happy when is family was mourning. That's when he remembered it, the book that his father had left downstairs after having allowed the rain to ruin it a few weeks before. The one that Winston had retrieved and dried out with a towel and a small flame behind the house. He slid off the roof and onto the balcony, slipping back inside to where he'd hidden the book in his room. There was a loose floorboard, one that he hadn't told his parents about, that served as a safe of sorts.

It was perfect, as they always expected their son to hide his valuables in the trunk at the foot of his bed. But Winston had their thought process figured out.

Stuffing the warped book beneath his arm, Winston grabbed the lantern that sat on his shelf, shoving a box of matches into his pocket before crawling back outside. He used the railing of the balcony to propel himself back onto the roof, striking a match as soon as he was settled back into his place. He didn't notice the cold, the light of the small flame in the lantern enough to warm him with hope. He licked his fingers, pressing them over the match before discarding it, watching as it fell down onto the dirt road at the bottom of the steps.

The book was promptly opened, the wrinkled pages looking even better than they had when the book was perfectly intact. Maybe it was the magic he'd discovered, the power that these pages held that made him think that they were wonderful as they were. He skimmed through the introductory chapters, grinning as he saw that familiar line:

"The basis of alchemy is equivalent exchange. Humankind cannot gain without first giving something in return."

But the exception, as he'd learned from his independent study sessions, was a mythical artifact known as the Philosopher's Stone. The all-powerful elixir with limitless ability. With that kind of power at his fingertips, he could do more than just raise the dead. He could cure his father's illness, and maybe use it to make their crops turn out better each year.

Winston flipped through the pages, curious as to whether or not there were instructions that applied to the use of the stone. Instead, he ran across a page that mentioned a sin, the greatest taboo among alchemists. He read quickly, his mind absorbing the words like a cotton shirt in water. But, when he turned the page again, there was nothing. Just the beginning of the next chapter.

He shrugged, snapping the book shut with a smile as he lay beneath the stars. He could make a difference in the world just like his father had. Maybe it wouldn't be for the entire nation, but for something more important. For his family, and for their happiness.

It was just too bad he hadn't realized what was missing. The most important page of the book.


	7. Waiting For You

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist_, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Chapter 7: **Waiting For You

**A/N:** I had intended to update this... quite some weeks ago, but I simply forgot that I had this chapter finished. Whoops. Chapter 8, however, will be posted sometime this week, as it's my Spring Break.

* * *

><p>It wasn't particularly crowded, the train, but he didn't like it a bit. It was one thing, climbing into the metal beast with one's parents, but going it alone was an entirely different scene. Especially when people were eyeballing him like he didn't belong.<p>

It had taken some quick thinking, getting out of the house in the dead of night. Many of the stairs creaked, and some of the hinges on the doors needed to be cleaned off, if not oiled or replaced. And it didn't help that his uncle had sat up late talking to his mother about how things would progress. However, Winston had heard him mention that he wouldn't leave until his father was up on his feet again.

That had made him smile. If everything went according to his grand design, then his uncle could get back to his own way of life. It wasn't that Winston minded having him around. In fact, his uncle was a great asset when he needed to get things off his chest. He was a calm and understanding man, never passing judgment. He'd let Winston talk, listen attentively, and proceed to address the points of the conversation that needed the most help.

But Winston didn't want his uncle to waste his life on them. He and his aunt Mei had things to do, maybe children to have and raise. It wouldn't be right if they had to sacrifice all of that on account of a stupid disease, let alone Winston's own mistakes.

That was the other thing about this plan he'd made. He wanted to prove people wrong. To be able to stand up and say that they didn't have to be afraid anymore. That there was a way for them to bring their loved ones outdoors again, to watch them run and walk the way that they were meant to. People weren't meant to waste their lives lying in bed, to die slowly and in pain. They were supposed to enjoy life, to completely disregard the fact that, every minute, it was slipping so quietly away.

The joys of the world were supposed to be their focus.

He didn't know how long the trip would take. He hadn't thought about grabbing a map, let alone buying one in town before leaving. Winston had simply packed his suitcase with the things he would need, grabbed a roll of money from beneath his floorboard, and crept quietly down the stairs where he'd gone out the back door. Of course, before heading to the station, he'd stopped by the cemetery, promising Matilda that he'd be back soon, and that, by Christmas, she'd be as happy and alive as before.

A big promise, when he thought about it. It meant that he only had a good four months to find the stone, secure it, and return home.

Winston settled down beneath his coat, the suitcase sitting opposite him so he could throw his feet on top of it. Maybe he should have brought Emily along for good luck. He'd hate himself if some wild animal showed up and took her away for bedding. But, as the train was already heading further westward, there was little he could do now. He'd have to hope and pray that Marla would take care of things for him. She was a smart dog, after all. She'd know what it was she needed to do.

The youth reached into his pocket, watching as the moonlight spilled through the window and onto the object in his hand. His father had taken good care of it, this memento of his past. He'd set it on a small cushion inside a little glass box, taking care of not to damage the steel as he polished it. From what Winston had seen, his father took better care of this watch than he did his own automail. His mother had never been too keen on that idea.

He smiled, prying it open to reveal the watch face, the Roman numerals staring up at him as the fine black hands ticked onward with time. Winston had always wanted one, a watch like this. As a boy, he'd seen the conductor at the station with a finely polished gold one in his pocket, and had insisted that, someday, his father help him find one of his own. There had been a smile from the man as he lifted Winston into his arms, promising the boy that, one day, he'd have something even better than a conductor's pocket watch.

Winston pressed his hands into the cover, his fingers brushing against something familiar. He worked carefully to remove the paper, trying his best not to bend it. When it popped out and into his hand, he saw that it was a cleanly cut copy of the Elric family photo. There it was, that goofy grin on his father's face as he held Winston in his arms. And he, having wanted to be everything his father was, wore the same expression, even at two years of age. His mother beamed up at him, that precious baby curled in the crook of her arm. A baby that he, the brother and protector, had sent away to God.

He tucked the photo gently into his pocket, promising that he'd return it to his father as soon as he got home. It would be easier to show him this than to try to explain his motives over all the shouting. Yes, Winston was certain that his parents would have a good, long lecture waiting for him when he returned.

That's when he saw it. The jagged engraving on the inside where the photo had been:

"Don't forget: 3 October 1910."

He knew what that meant. It was the day that his father and uncle had burned down their home, promising that they wouldn't return to Risembool until they could regain what they had lost. Now, Winston couldn't do something quite that drastic, which was why he'd left Emily there to keep Matilda company. Still, he'd made a promise himself. He'd do very much the same as his father had, not returning home until he could bring back his gift.

Winston recalled a part of the tale that his uncle had told him, that about life only flowing in one direction. He'd said that they'd made a grave mistake, attempting alchemy's greatest sin, but Winston had never heard anything more than that. In fact, that was why he'd consulted that old book earlier in the evening. He'd wanted to know exactly what it was that alchemists weren't supposed to do. But his search had led him nowhere. Just to the page where one chapter ended and another began.

So he'd put that aside. He would correct the mistakes made by his father, and he'd do it without that great sin, whatever it was.

It was then, with that comforting thought, that he drifted off to sleep.

****# - # - # - #****

"Gone? What the hell is he thinking?"

Utterly unacceptable, wandering off in the dead of night. Risembool wasn't dangerous by any means, but the strain in Edward's core wasn't a good omen at all. He knew his boy, the one everyone said was so much like him, and it frightened the man to death. He'd been a hotheaded fool at Winston's age, and he couldn't help fearing that his son had gone to do something crazy. In fact, he was certain of it.

Winston certainly hadn't snuck out to go lake fishing.

"I don't know, Ed," Alphonse shrugged, hands in his coat pockets. "Winry and Mei have searched the house, and I didn't see him anywhere outside. Even went down to the fields by the river, but I didn't find anything."

Edward wanted to hit something, the way he had done before when things just got too tough. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Winston wasn't supposed to be as stupid as he had been. He was a smart kid, and with so much potential that could be channeled into a million different outlets. Why was this happening all of a sudden? No. He shook his head, wishing that he could be out there, searching. It wasn't sudden, either.

It was a repeat of history. A nightmare.

"Forget about it, Alphonse," he huffed as his brother turned to leave the room. "It's no use looking for him now. He's gone."

"Gone?"

Alphonse should have seen it, but he couldn't blame his brother for being ignorant to the facts. This wasn't his son. His brother knew how similar the two of them were, but he was just so pure and full of forgiveness, that it must have blinded him to all this. Or, perhaps, he was simply denying the truth.

"Look out the window for me, will you?" he asked. "And tell me... is there... anything by Matilda's stone?"

The other man nodded, facing the window and lifting it up and open. He leaned outside a bit, then came back inside with a sad expression.

"There's... a doll," he said. "A doll with yarn for hair, like the one Matilda used to have. Ed, does this mean...?"

The elder brother fell back against the pillows, smacking his head against the wooden headboard. He didn't even feel it. Edward couldn't, because it didn't matter. His son was out there, somewhere, following his own path, uncovering the dust and adjusting the pieces, slowly.

"He's looking for it. The Stone..."


	8. Watching Over You

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist_, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Chapter 8: **Watching Over You

**A/N: **Thank you all for reading. Expect chapter 9 within the next few days.

* * *

><p>The knock on the door startled him out of his daze, the papers still as alive as they'd been an hour earlier. He sighed, hoping that, were he to ignore the sound, the person on the other side would just go the hell away. Since it was early, and he'd gone to sleep a little too late the night before, Roy simply used the book he'd been reading as a cushion, allowing his head to fall firmly against it.<p>

"Sir, this is no time for a nap!" a sharp voice said, the door suddenly wide open. "I insist that you sit up, take things seriously, and get back to work!"

Roy grimaced, the book having been yanked out from beneath his forehead. He looked up at the woman, smiled coyly, and proceeded to straighten himself up like a proper gentleman. Judging by the way she looked at him, she wasn't the slightest bit impressed.

She was about to say something to him, probably a firm reprimand, when the phone went off, his hand snatching it off the base before she could lift a finger.

"I thought we were past this sort of behavior, Major."

"As did I," came the reply. "But, you continue to prove me wrong. It seems that you're still in need of a babysitter."

He laughed, leaning back into his seat, hand snatching up the phone as it began to ring.

"General Mustang speaking," he said into the receiver, ignoring Hawkeye's glare.

"Well, it's certainly been a while _General_," a smug voice commented through the receiver. "Tell me, is the Major _still _having problems keeping you on a tight leash?"

The general scowled, that smile creeping in again. "Never thought I'd have to hear your voice after our last encounter, Elric," he retorted, leaning back in his chair. "Now, tell me, what could you possibly have to say that merits a phone call on an otherwise wonderful day?"

"Aw, cut the crap, Mustang! This isn't a damned social call, all right? I'm looking for someone, and I decided that, since you still owe me one, now would be the perfect time for me to collect."

"Haven't you learned anything, Elric?" he laughed, imagining the look on the other man's face. "If there's one thing I was certain that you'd pick up on, it was that you can't leave your women lying around unattended. They tend to walk away from you after an hour or two alone. Besides, you _still _haven't returned the money you owe me."

He had a feeling that, had he said much else about women, Riza would have smacked him.

"This isn't about women, you moron! This is about my son! My _son_, Winston! He's missing!"

Roy yawned audibly into the phone, swiftly pushing aside the stack of paperwork that the woman had placed in front of him. He really didn't see why this was his problem. Edward's boy, Windsor or whatever his name was, was probably wandering around that dusty little town with a fishing pole and a bucket, his patched-up overalls covered with dirt and grime. He was betting that, being a man with such a short temper, Edward had flipped his shit a little too early, and had worn himself out with a tantrum when his time could have been better spent.

"Look, Ed, I don't know anything about your boy, and I haven't seen him. Young Windsor is probably playing some sort of game with you, that's all." Roy grimaced as the papers were pushed back to the center of his desk, Riza's eyes boring into him as she slapped the pen into his free hand. Humoring her, he went about to signing a couple of documents, not bothering to read them. "Just go look for him. A little kid can't get far, you know."

He could almost see the other man pulling his hair out as he shouted, "His name is Win_ston_, and he's not a little kid! He's fourteen and _missing_, you neanderthal! Don't you have any common sense? How the hell would a little kid get out of Risembool?" A pause. "He left a note behind, General. It mentions something about 'the key to right all wrongs.' He's gotta be after the stone!"

"Hold on. You're telling me that your son is seeking out the Philosopher's Stone?" As humorous an idea as that was, the fact that a boy would be following in his father's footsteps, it really wasn't the time for jokes. He'd sworn that he wouldn't allow another stone to be created in this country, let alone found, but if Edward's son was searching for it, he'd be certain to hit the libraries in an attempt to research one. "You owe me for this, Elric."

****# - # - # - #****

"Hey, mister. It's time to wake up now."

Winston opened his eyes, morning sun streaming in through the window. He sat up, coat falling to the floor behind his seat, shoes banging against his suitcase as he stretched. Spending the night on the train had been thrilling, sitting under the watch of the stars, the countryside running past, but it left something to be desired. It needed the comforts of a warm home.

The boy leaned over the bench, expecting to see his coat. But there, with it draped around her shoulders, was a redheaded girl of about ten years old. She smiled up at him, waving at him with one hand while the other searched his pockets, not at all discretely. Winston couldn't just take the coat away, for fear of making her cry, so he smiled back and pointed to one of the pockets on the inside, watching the girl's little hand dive inside.

She lit up like a lantern, little wrapped candies clasped in her palm. The girl laughed, bouncing up on the balls of her feet, thanking him.

"You gotta get off the train now, mister," she said, popping a caramel into her mouth. "The conductor's gonna come by soon, and he's not very nice to people who hang around too long. If you don't hurry, he'll think you're a hoodlum."

Through the door, a man stood, tapping his foot and watching Winston with a raised brow. The boy hurried to his feet, grabbing his suitcase and dashing past him, apologizing for the mistake. He stepped out onto the platform, surprised. It was bigger than he'd expected, the Central City train station. Smokestacks spewed gray clouds of soot, people pushed past him to board their own trains, while others chattered in small groups.

Hopefully, there would be a map around, perhaps even one that he could buy. Winston smiled to himself, proud. He'd come this far alone, and, although everyone would be angry at him for leaving, the next time he walked through the door of his home, Matilda would be with him.

A hand moved to reach into his coat, only to realize that it wasn't there. He spun around, the suitcase thumping against his leg, only to see that the train was through boarding, people sitting along the rows and staring out the windows as it moved slowly forward and out of his reach. He'd left his coat on the train.

Winston sighed, walking to a bench and throwing himself upon his, distraught. Not only had he kept his money in his coat pocket, but his father's watch, too. What would he do now? He didn't have time to find a job and earn wages to buy a ticket, as it would take far too long and cut into his search time, and there was certainly no way to replace the pocket watch.

"I'm such an idiot," he whispered, burying his face in his hands. "A real idiot..."

A small gust of air blew through his fingers as something fell into his lap. Opening his eyes, Winston saw the same little girl from the train, and his coat in his lap.

"You forgot your coat, mister," she said, one cheek puffed out with the candy. "Thought you might need it. Central gets cold sometimes, especially now around the fall. Gets windy at night sometimes."

Winston pulled the coat around his shoulders, searching the pockets. Sure enough, both the watch and his role of money was there.

"Thank you for your help," he nodded, standing up. "I don't have to be anywhere for a little while, so...Do you need help finding your parents?"

The girl shook her head. "No. I don't have any parents," she replied, rocking back and forth. "Haven't for a while. A couple years, I think. They got real sick a couple winters back."

Winston gripped his sleeve, not knowing what to say. The girl didn't seem upset about it at all though, talking about her parents' deaths like she was already grown up.

He flinched when she shoved a hand into his face, beaming up at him. "Annabel," she said. "I'm Annabel Langer."

"Winston Elric," he replied, shaking her hand.

"Elric?" Annabel's eyes grew wide, standing on her tip-toes to look at him. "Like Edward Elric? The State Alchemist from Risembool?"

"Er, yes. He's my father. How do you...?"

Annabel jumped back and screamed, dancing around in a circle. "He's my hero!" she exclaimed, grabbing Winston by the arm and pulling him towards the street. "See, since I already know how to read and write, I don't have to go to school. So I have all kinds of time to go to the library and hide in the closets with a stack of books. So I know all about Mr. Edward!"

Winston sighed, peering around at the people who were now staring at him. They were probably wondering what a couple of kids were doing on their own in the middle of the nation's capital. But Annabel, with her happy-go-lucky attitude, and chattering about how great a man Winston's father was, didn't seem to notice them at all.

"Do you know where I can get a map?" he said, walking down the stone steps and into the street. "I've never been to Central before, so I'm kind of lost."

Annabel let him go, turning around to give him another toothy grin. "You don't need a stuffy old map," she said, poking him in the arm. "You've got me now, and I know every corner of this place. Stick with me, and you'll be just fine."


	9. No One Walks Alone

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist_, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Chapter 9: **No One Walks Alone

* * *

><p>There had been no breakfast downstairs that morning, so Alphonse had taken care of it himself, taking something up to Mei and his brother, both of whom had been asleep. Winry had locked herself in Winston's room once he'd been labeled missing, and hadn't come out for anything. He couldn't blame her. Already, she'd been through so much, and long before she should have understood trial. Parents, heroes, who went to serve in the war, cut down before their final letter had reached her fingertips. Two boys, like brothers to her, running away to correct their fool mistakes. A man, murderer of her parents, threatening what little family she had left. And then, the children she'd always wanted, beautiful and full of life, one having been snatched away without warning.<p>

Poor Winry. She wasn't supposed to be forced to cope with all this.

It was tearing him as well now, his feet flat on the floor as Marla settled her head into his lap. He smiled, rubbing gently behind her ears. She reminded him a lot of Den.

"Good morning, Al," Mei said, leaning over his shoulder. "Did you sleep well?"

Not really, but he nodded, taking her hand. He'd spent the later hours of the night talking with Edward, trying to find any explanation but the truth that would explain Winston's actions. There had been nothing, and they'd been forced to accept that he was doing just what they had.

He likely felt responsible, having lost Matilda to the river in the midst of a harmless game. He must have carried that weight all this time, beating himself up for being that day what nature had made him. A boy. A sweet, tender little boy with a big, soft heart.

Headstrong like his father, and gentle like his mother. That explained a lot. Alphonse was sure that, one way or another, his nephew would have found a way to Central, without exception. But, as had been shown by his note, he wouldn't have told anyone face-to-face. He didn't have the raw nerve to stand in front of his mother, ignore her pleas, and still walk out. The note had been his way of hurting her, and himself, less.

"I just talked to Ed," Mei whispered, filling his cup with coffee again. "Winston's gone to Central."

Alphonse nodded, the smell of the boiling liquid wafting up into his face. His poor brother. It must have hurt to be like this, sick and unable to give chase to his only son, to keep him from making the same mistakes.

He pushed his chair away from the table, standing and walking to the wall where the phone hung. His hand fell on the receiver, hesitant. Before he did anything, he had to think. Did he know anyone in Central aside from the General and his men? He had known people who visited the capital from time to time, but that had been a few years back. There was no telling whether or not his old friends had kept up that routine.

"Who are you calling?"

Alphonse sighed, hand falling away. "No one."

Through the living room and up the stairs he went, back down the hall to his brother's room. Edward looked positively miserable, staring up at the ceiling.

"Dammit," he growled, "I can't take this anymore. I gotta get the hell out of this bed, Al! Do you know how long I can sit still without doing anything?"

Alphonse glanced at his watch, the back to his brother. "About five minutes," he replied. "Which just makes it all the more surprising that you're not scooting down the stairs."

The elder Elric gave him a sour look. "Real funny, Al."

He crossed the room and pulled open the curtains, letting the warm, afternoon light pour in with the breeze that wafted through the window. Alphonse had an idea, but he didn't think his brother would approve. Even if he did, there was no way Winry would consent.

"I was just thinking," he said, his back to Edward, "someone should go after him."

A loud sigh as his brother leaned back against the bed. "Yeah, well that's not gonna happen. We both know it. Even if I could get up, Winry wouldn't let me leave." He draped an arm over his eyes. "I think... she'd be too afraid, you know? That I wouldn't come back either... But sheesh! She ought to know better. I came back the last time, for crying out loud!"

So Edward had been thinking about chasing Winston, too. That made him smile. They'd always had that bond, the uncanny ability to think the same thoughts, and have the same brilliant ideas. Although, Edward's weren't usually planned so thoroughly as his own. He remembered that, more often than not, those wild, unrefined ideas had gotten them both into some pretty bad scrapes.

"I didn't mean you, Ed." Alphonse turned, leaning back against the window. "I was thinking... I could find him."

"That's stupid!" came the boisterous reply. "Forget about it, Al. I'm not gonna have you cleaning up my messes for me! He's my kid, dammit... So he's my responsibility, not yours."

Alphonse grimaced, turning around to close the door. "You're the one who's being stupid! We're family, Edward! Brothers! We stick together, and share each other's burdens! No one walks alone. Or maybe... you just don't remember all that anymore..."

He closed his eyes, and, after a brief flash of light, there they were again, crouched on the floor of their father's study, chalk sticking to the palms of their hands, sweat on their necks and faces. Another flash, and they were back in East City, waiting for the hand of death to snatch one of them away. Again and again he saw them, broken, bleeding, fighting all the odds for just another breath, another minute to dedicate to figuring out how to stay alive for just one more day.

"It doesn't matter what you say, Edward," he said. "I'll go. For you and Winry. I'll find Winston, and I'll bring him home..."

****# - # - # - #****

His feet ached, walking around on the stone streets of Central, being towed around the city by Annabel. The sun was slowly sinking in the sky with each minute that passed, and not once had they stopped to eat, much to his regret. He should have said something to her, insisted that they stop to rest for a few minutes. But, seeing her enthusiasm, knowing that she wanted to be his guide and friend, Winston hadn't the heart to take away her fun. Not even long enough to get a decent meal.

She pulled him into an alleyway, her grin suddenly gone. She was more mellowed out now, leading him around crates and cardboard boxes, past trash cans and around another corner to an old train yard.

"What is this place?" It looked filthy, the wheels of the cars on the tracks covered with red rust and grease, all of the doors wide open to show off large oil drums filled to the brim with scraps and wood. Even worse were the people, all staring at him as though he were an intruder to be taken and killed. "I... don't think we should be here."

Annabel laughed, her grip still firm upon his sleeve. "Don't be ridiculous," she said, heading towards one of the cars. "We're safer here than we would be in some stuffy hotel. Besides, you don't have to pay a cent."

He wished she wouldn't talk about his money. It was making him uneasy now that one man, a rather tall fellow with a sturdy jaw, had left his perch on a crate and started following them.

As Annabel hopped up and into the car, Winston scrambled inside after her, hoping that, if he stayed still and out of sight long enough, the man would lose interest and go away.

"Who's this guy, kiddo?" he heard a voice say. "He got any food on him? Maybe... a little cash?"

"His name's Winston," Annabel replied, bending over in a corner. When she stood up again, she had a box of matches. "And he's my friend, Geoffrey. So you better behave."

She lit a match, and held it up to the barrel, a couple small sticks catching the flame, spreading it to the rest of the wood. The blaze burned brightly, the warmth reaching him almost immediately as the girl closed the doors on one side, forcing the heat to spread throughout the train car.

Winston peered around the door, staring wide-eyed at this Geoffrey. The man smiled at him, likely one of good will and friendship, so the boy nodded in return. At least now he wouldn't have to worry about being mugged and killed. Annabel had made it fairly clear that he wasn't to be harmed in any way.

"So, why are we here?" he asked, looking at her.

Annabel shrugged into a coat a few sizes larger than herself, sitting down on a crate she'd pushed up by the barrel. The coat must have come from a large pile of clothes and bedding that sat opposite him in the one of the other corners. "This is where we'll be staying," she said. "I already told you, you're a lot safer here than in some uppity hotel room. It's warm, the company's great, and no one will think to look for you here if we get in trouble."

That was a bit of a relief, but it made Winston wonder about food and bathing.

"What about..." he paused, remembering that Geoffrey had already asked about food. "What about a shower?"

"A shower?" Geoffrey laughed. "Boy, this is a train yard, not a fancy-ass mansion. What kind of universe have you been living in?"

Winston sighed, sitting down on the floor. "A universe where I can bathe in the morning."

He flinched as something hit him in the head, falling to the floor. Winston picked it up and unwrapped the paper, surprised to see that it was a small loaf of bread. He looked at Annabel in shock as she handed one to Geoffrey too.

"Keep quiet about this, okay?" she told them, leering specifically at the man. "Nobody needs to know that I've got a stash. You come in here and get something, you come alone. And make sure no one follows you."

Geoffrey nodded his thanks, leaning into the car to clap Winston on the shoulder. "Didn't mean to scare ya, boy," he laughed. "Food n' things are hard to come by for people like us, so we've gotta go and do a little borrowing every now and then, ya see? Name's Geoffrey Harland, son. No hard feelings, eh?"

"Winston Elric," the boy nodded. "No hard feelings."

He watched quietly as Geoffrey hurried off to his own car, feeling much more welcome in the city than he had earlier that morning. Winston fell back against the floor, curled up beneath his coat as Annabel closed the door, leaving it open only a crack. Her tour of Central had been something all it's own, showing him all the best sights in a single day. But, of everything he'd seen, there was one place he wanted to visit more than any other.

"So, what do you wanna do tomorrow?"

Eyes closed, Winston rolled onto his side. "What about the library?" he suggested. "I'm looking for some books, and, if there's any place that has them, I bet it's the library here."

"What kind of books?"

He sat up and opened his suitcase, digging through the clothes until his fingers grazed the warped cover. "Alchemy books," Winston whispered, handing the book to Annabel. "My dad was a State Alchemist, but I never found out much about alchemy until a little while ago."

Blue eyes widened, that toothy grin returning to her face. "Then you're gonna want the First National Library. That's the best of the four in the city. Funny thing is, it burned down a long time ago, but the military put up the funding to have it rebuilt a few years back. I go there a lot, so take it from me when I say that you'll find something you're looking for."

"Good."

"But... what exactly are you looking for, Win?"

Winston shrugged, watching her flip through the book. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it. "It's just for fun, you know? There's no fun in wondering forever, so I thought I'd come out here to see if I could find anything interesting. Do research like my dad did at my age."

Annabel nodded. "So, did your parents send you out here?"

"Yeah," he lied. "I got pretty bored hanging around Risembool, fishing by the river every day, so I told them I wanted to come out here to study for a while."

"You're lucky..."

"What?"

Red hair flew into her face as Annabel shook her head. "Nothing," she said, darting to the other side of the car. Beneath all the clothes and bedding, she pulled out a mattress, tugging it close to the fire. "You can sleep here tonight."

"What about you?"

She laughed, turning to drag the rest of the pile to rest beside the mattress. "I can't stand the mattress. You use it," she said, lifting the lid off her crate. Hands dropped inside, coming out with a fireplace poker and a small, plucked bird. Annabel popped the bird onto the poker and held it into the fire. "Tomorrow, we'll have this little guy for breakfast."

Winston crawled around the barrel, tugging his suitcase along, allowing himself to fall onto the mattress. Coat pulled tightly around him, he closed his eyes again, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>There were a couple PMs last night, so I'll just address them here. Chapter length for something like this, a story that follows a completed series, usually ranges anywhere from 1500 to 3000 words. Anything longer than that, and I find that people have a harder time reading it, given the larger paragraphs. The second is the skipping around to different characters following the breaks. Breaks are used to separate perspectives in the chapters. The story is told from a primarily omnipotent point of view, where the readers understand the perspectives of every character so that they get a fuller understanding of what it is I'm trying to convey. It's kind of like the manga was, for those of you who read it, jumping around to focus on all the key characters and provide a more complete story. It's also harder for me to focus on a single character throughout a story as long as this one will be.<p> 


	10. Scrap Metal

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist_, _or any of the characters from the series used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Chapter 10: **Scrap Metal

**A/N:** I know I promised this chapter months ago. I'm sorry. There has been so much happening outside of fandom, and I lost track of this fic completely. The sad thing is, the chapter has been done since, I think, April. However, it's up now, so those of you who have been waiting, now have another chapter to satisfy for a while. Sadly, I have no idea how long it'll take before 11 is done. I'll try to work on it this week, but I work weird hours that change every week, so there's no telling when it'll be done. Still, I will try.

Right now, I'm damn happy I went and bought the first FMA series, because it put me back on my alchemy kick.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, sir," the man at the desk huffed, not once looking up from his novel. "But we can't just allow any old urchin off the street into our military archives. I hope you understand."<p>

Urchin? Who was he calling an urchin? Winston looked down at his clothes, realizing that he actually was much more dirty than when he'd arrived at the station the day before. He hadn't even showered, as the train yard didn't have such a thing. Just a stream running past, where he'd gone to wash his face. Even so, he thought it a bit rude for this librarian to be treating him like he was inferior based on something so shallow as a first impression. He'd come to the library to research more alchemy, not to be treated like dirt.

Winston leaned forward on an arm, Annabel motioning to him silently with her hands. If he understood correctly, he was to distract the man, while she rushed into the back room and gathered the books for him. His eyes widened with remembrance, reaching into his pants pocket for a slip of paper. On it were the names of several books that had been referenced in the one he'd brought from home. He handed it to her, then turned his attention back to the librarian.

"Let me get this straight," he said, trying to sound thoughtful. "This is a public library, yet it's not completely open to the public? Well, that hardly seems right."

The librarian slammed his book shut, looking up at Winston through his round glasses. "Only certain sections of the library are off limits, sir," he replied with a grimace. "I'm not sure if you saw, but this is the First National Library of Amestris. And, as such, we have been entrusted with various forms of documentation that, despite this being a public library, are not available to persons without military authorization. Do I make myself clear, _sir_?"

Winston nodded, reaching back into his pocket. "Military authorization, you say. Well, would this," he lifted the watch for the man to see, "qualify, perchance?"

Annabel then appeared behind one of the shelves, motioning to him, pointing to a stack of about four books that sat at her feet. Winston shifted a bit, trying to make it appear natural, before pushing his suitcase across the floor to her, watching for a moment as she piled the books inside before sitting down on top of it.

The librarian smirked, shaking his head. "The organization of the State Alchemists was disbanded nearly twenty years ago, sir. That watch you have is little more than a useless piece of scrap metal."

Scrap metal? The nerve. State Alchemists were still revered by the people as heroes. Men and women who had put their lives, and morals, on the line to keep this great nation safe. Although they had been used primarily as human weapons, their power abused by the late Fuhrer Bradley, they still deserved respect. And Winston would not allow this man to spit on the title his father had held.

Normally, he would have held his tongue, but this was a much more personal matter.

"Listen here," he huffed, grabbing the man by his tie. "You're gonna straighten up, and stop talking about State Alchemists like they were dogs! They're people, just like us! People who were given a duty, and fulfilled it! People who, despite being used as weapons of war, still had families and friends. I'll have you know, my father was one of them, and I will not have you talk about him that way!"

A hand fell on his shoulder, pulling him back and away from the librarian.

"Morning, Mr. Andre," said a voice. "Having a bit of trouble with the kids again, are we? Such a shame that there's always a couple trying to stir up trouble. Most kids around here are really quite fond of you, I hear."

Winston turned and looked at the man behind him. A military officer, judging by the uniform, and a high-ranking one, too. Though he couldn't be all that wise, telling this man that kids actually liked him. He didn't know how that could be. This Mr. Andre had been a right foul pig to him in no time flat, and Winston, generally a very proper boy, had the sudden desire to knock the librarian's lights right out of his skull.

"Another troubled morning, General," the man replied, giving Winston a smirk. "Why, this young man and his little friend had the nerve to come in here and request top-secret clearance to military records!" Mr. Andre snatched the watch out of Winston's hand, holding it out to the officer. "And with this, to boot!"

The soldier eyeballed the watch for a moment before taking it in a gloved hand, rolling it over in his palm before pocketing it. "I see. Well, don't worry about these kids, Mr. Andre. I'll take care of them for you." The man patted his pocket. "And I'll ensure that you don't see one of these in the wrong hands again."

"Hey!" Winston said, pulling himself out of the man's grasp. "Give that back! It's mine!"

The soldier's dark eyes shone as he laughed. "That's a good one, son," he said, taking Winston by the arm. "But no more games. You and your friend are in big trouble." The man looked at Annabel and motioned for her to follow. "Come on. You're both coming with me."

**# - # - # - #**

She must have searched every closet, every stall of every restroom in the building, and still nothing. Shirking his duties yet again, and probably having a right good time of it. The years may have changed his status, his credibility to an extent, but they certainly hadn't changed the somewhat arrogant and foolish man who had been under her father's tutelage.  
>Roy Mustang was in a class all his own.<p>

Officers scurried down the halls as she strode past, her demeanor speaking for itself. Years of childish games, not at all the sort she had an interest in playing, had changed nothing in her, either. As his subordinate, his assistant, his friend, his protector, even, in passing, something a bit more personal, her sense of duty hadn't been swayed in the slightest. As soldiers, their obligation was first, to their country, second, to their work, and third, to themselves and each other. And, seeing how the general was still very fond of skipping tedious and lengthy sheets of paperwork, it seemed that they were both stuck with the man's second duty.

"That man..." she sighed, opening the office door. "Lieutenant Alder, what have you to report?"

The young man at the desk stood up swiftly, knocking several pages to the floor. He hesitated in his salute, wondering whether or not he should continue, or put things back in order. His hand flew to his forehead appropriately, sweat beading on his brow. It made the major wonder just how long it would take for him to get over this irrational fear he had of her.

"Nothing yet, sir," he replied in a level tone, maintaining the salute. "I've made calls around the city just as you requested, and, thus far, nothing has turned up. I'm very sorry."

Riza nodded, the lieutenant's hand returning to his side. Alder had nothing to be sorry about. He was here at his post as required, fulfilling his duty with a fervent attitude that, once, had made her hopeful. When he had risen under the general's jurisdiction, she'd initially thought that his strong sense of accomplishing his tasks on time would eventually rub off on their superior officer. Yet, in the six months since the young man's arrival, there had been no new developments with Roy's slacking off.

A knock sounded on the door, and she turned, mutely noting that the lieutenant had set himself to work with collecting the scattered pages.  
>"Come in."<p>

The door opened slightly, a young female officer with nut brown hair walking in with a firm salute. "Forgive my intrusion, Major," she said, "but I'm afraid I have some... good and bad news."

Riza straightened up a bit, nodding. She couldn't appear anxious. "Yes?"

"I just received word the General Mustang was sighted at the First National Library. It would seem he was making his daily round of visitations, and happened upon some children who were stirring up trouble." She lifted a hand to straighten out her uniform a bit. "The bad news is that the Aerugonian military's liaison, Colonel Edgar Valen, has arrived and asked to speak with the general..."

That couldn't have been right. She turned on her heel, marching to the desk and sifting through the stacks of paper until she found the one that outlined the general's monthly schedule. Sure enough, on this very day, August 11th, there was a perfectly clear note that stated Colonel Valen's visit to discuss the treaty on behalf of Parliament.

What perfect timing the general had, skipping out on a day like today.

It wasn't at all her place to say, but Riza couldn't help wondering why the higher ups had dared to put a man like Roy Mustang in charge of speaking with such an important guest. They ought to have known how utterly foolish he could be, but, unfortunately, she'd covered and made him look far too good. Now, he was digging himself into a pit. And she was going to end up falling in with him.

The major nodded, thus dismissing the officer.

"Roy Mustang, just you wait until I -"

"Why, hello there, Major!" came a triumphant cry as the door opened. "What a lovely day it is, don't you agree?"

She turned on him with daggers in her eyes, far too easily ignored as Roy sauntered into the office, towing with him a couple of kids. Likely the two who had tried to cause trouble at the library. Funnily enough, one of them looked very familiar, what with his blond hair and long coat. The other, a redheaded little girl, trudged behind, looking rather bothered by the fact that this foolish man had dragged her away from something that must have been important to a child's mind.

"General, there's something I must discuss with you now!" Riza said, raising her voice higher than needed. "It's about your meeting with Colonel Valen of Aerugo. You should have been present _ten minutes ago_!"

Roy smiled, taking his seat and ushering Lieutenant Alder away. "Valen, eh?" He paused a moment, looking rather thoughtful. "Aw, screw him. The man's a stuffed shirt anyway. It'll do him a world of good to learn some serious patience."

She could practically see the dirt flying over his shoulder as he continued digging his grave.

"All right, kid," he said, leaning across the desk to stare at the boy. Roy held a silver pocket watch in his hand, very much like the one he had once carried. "Where did this come from? You steal it or what?"

The boy frowned in protest, stamping his foot. "I did not! It's mine! Now give it back!"

After the fall of the old military, Parliament had stepped in and altered the system, creating one in which the people of Amestris had their say in votes as for who was to lead them. With that change, the State Alchemist organization had also been disbanded, through, due to the circumstances as to the late Fuhrer's abuse of power, their wrongs had not been pursued.

"You expect me to believe this is yours?" Roy chuckled. "Boy, just how old are you?"

"Fourteen."

The general stood, swinging the watch around by the chain. "The State Alchemist system was abolished about twenty years ago. Now, unless I'm worse at Mathematics than I originally believed, the difference between twenty and fourteen is six. Ergo, this can't possibly be your property."

"General..."

He was really quite terrible at speaking to people, namely those whose opinions differed from his own. Roy had a bit of a problem with pushing past the boundaries of teasing, going straight to a less intense form of harassment. It was evident on the boy's face, which now looked a bit red. It certainly wasn't hot in the office, either.

"Just open it!" the boy shouted, slamming a hand on the desk. "Open it and you'll see!"

The general stared at the child for a moment before glancing to her. Palm up, he flipped his wrist, sending the watch flying into her own hands with a nod.

"Well, you heard the boy, Major," he smirked. "Go ahead and open it."

The metal was cool against her fingers, growing warmer by the second as she tampered with the knob at the top. With a click, the lid opened, the hands on the face of the watch ticking slowly, the gears perhaps worn out a bit by time. Peering inside, the major's eyes widened, moving from the watch to the young man standing by the general's desk. It was no wonder he had looked so familiar to her, what with that golden hair and a gaze that burned like a brush fire.

Not a word was spoken between them as Riza crossed the room to stand at the general's side, staring quietly at the boy as she placed the watch gently on the desk.

"It's a joke, isn't it, Major?" Roy laughed, snatching the device. "Just tell me: What's the punchline?"

The major said nothing.

There was a moment of silence as the snickering died down, the child's glare focusing upon the general once more. Promptly, he stood, the legs of the chair scraping against the carpet as it fell back against the wall.

"Well, I'll be damned," he murmured, the watch clasped within his fist. Air fell upon her face as he pushed past, swiftly moving to stand in front of the seemingly proud young man. The general's gloved hand was outstretched then, taking that of the boy in a firm handshake. "I suppose it's a real pleasure to meet you... _Mr. Elric_."


	11. What We Dream

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FullMetal Alchemist_, _or any of the characters from the series used in this fic. They all belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Chapter 11: **What We Dream

**A/N:** I have nothing to do today, and no work until the weekend, so I whipped this up for you guys. Honestly, the story's going a lot slower than anything else I've written to date, but it's essential. My desire was to create a follow-up story that did Arakawa's own masterpiece justice, and I feel like this could be it.

I don't know if anyone else cries while reading or watching things, but I do. I'm afraid that this may be one of those "all the feels!" moments.

* * *

><p>The nights she remembered had been spent beneath a sea of stars, watching as plumes of smoke from nearby houses floated up and around them, like a screen. Her bedroom had been her house, her window a door to the world outside. A world filled with people who, while looking for hope, had managed to be content with what they had. Life, laughter, love. So a hotel, which she had thought to be a very large house before now, was an entirely different environment. Soft plush beds, plump pillows, electricity, and all the food a child her size and age could dream of eating.<p>

The only downside? The soldiers who had been assigned to keep watch.

"So why's this Mustang guy keeping us here?" Annabel quipped, shoving a cupcake into her mouth. She grimaced, realizing that the texture of the small cake was rather different on the outside than the inside. "I don't mind being fed, and this room is great. But what's the point of treating us like prisoners?"

Sitting by the window, Winston didn't so much as move to look at her. He just allowed his eyes to move with the people and traffic on the street below.

"Don't know," he replied as a carriage drove on by. Annabel imagined that, being from outside the city, he must have liked horses. "And you're not supposed to eat the cupcake wrapper."

The cupcake still half-formed in her mouth, Annabel stuck her tongue out and pulled a very damp piece of paper out of the clump. She couldn't claim to be much of a chef, having to kill pigeons and steal from delivery trucks, but she was certain that paper didn't belong in food. Unless she'd missed out on something while living in the old train yard.

Tossing the thing in the trash, she wrapped her hands around her ankles and leaned back, rocking herself on the bed. There must have been so much out in the world, so much that she knew nothing about outside of Central City. And it got her to wondering.

"So what's your place like?"

Winston turned then, leaning back against the window with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Your home. What's it like? I bet it's better than this place, huh? I bet it's pretty, too, Risembool."

The way he looked at her, he must have forgotten that she'd done her research, having claimed his father as her eternal hero. His expression softened, a whisper of a smile creeping onto his face. Annabel imagined that he must have been a little homesick, even after only being gone for a couple days.

"Well, back East, things are pretty small, simple. Considering we're so close to the border leading to the desert, it's not surprising." The smile widened. "It's real green," he said fondly. "Especially in spring. Everything just looks alive, and it smells the way I think heaven might. The houses are far and few between, so there's no crowding unless you go into town. Just a couple shops and restaurants, and the station, of course, so everybody gets a lot of business."

Annabel nodded. It sounded perfect. Like something right out of a storybook or a museum painting. A peaceful place that everyone would want to live.

"What about winter?" She crawled to the edge of the bed, grinning, the tray of food on the table momentarily forgotten. "Is it perfect in winter, too? I bet it snows all the time, right?"

"Of course it does," he laughed, sitting beside her. "I think winter's my favorite. Plenty of people don't like it, because they say everything looks dead. But when you wake up and look out your window in the morning, it's like you've been taken someplace far away. It's white everywhere, and the shapes of the trees and rocks are barely visible. The lake freezes, and the whole town goes out for a night of fun the week before Christmas. Everybody cooks, and we place games on the ice."

How lucky he was, living someplace like that. In Central, it wasn't quite that pretty. It got cold, just like everywhere else, but it was an uncomfortable kind of chill, the sort that made people like herself and her friends wish that they had a house with a roaring fire to return to. Rather than white, the snow would appear gray, or sometimes black, from the soot, the exhaust, in the air. Lights would always be on at night, taking away from the perfect winter wonderland that it should have been.

Annabel wished she could live in a pristine green valley. To run through the warm grass in the summer, and sit indoors with friends when the snow touched down to earth. A big house on a hill is what she would have, where she'd raise sheep and horses and plant her own maze of crops. It all sounded so beautiful.

"Do you have a river?"

He stood up then, pulling his coat, which he had yet to remove, around his shoulders and marching back to open the window.

"That's right." Winston's voice was quiet, now lacking the excitement that it had held mere moments before. "The river runs right on through. Through the heart of our valley..."

"The river here is horrid. It's all we have, but it's so full of dirt and grime and litter, that it might as well not be a river at all." She smiled, looking to his back again. "You're lucky, Winston."

"Yeah," he whispered. "Real lucky."

****# - # - # - #****

Though dizzy and confused, pacing was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. It kept his head clear, and siphoned much of the energy it would have taken for him to begin shouting. By all rights, he should have been more than just shocked. He should have been angry, furious even. He should have been on the phone, demanding that the soldiers at the hotel take that damned child to the station and escort him straight back to Risembool. He had missed his meeting with Colonel Valen, and had thus been informed that the man would not return until a proper, and personal, apology had been issued by Roy himself.

He cursed himself for having been so preoccupied with this damned thing.

But, in his hand, the watch was familiar, a presence that brought him both comfort and despair. With it, he had been branded a dog, a soldier, a weapon to be used in a time of war. A shepherd called to slaughter the sheep he had sworn to protect. Yet, it was a firm reminder of all their sacrifices, of those who had lived for this country, lived to help him and others to pursue their goals.

It must have been disrespectful, pacing back and forth across the row of stones, trampling the grass with each step. He had come to talk, to seek a silent form of guidance, not to obsess and ignore the grave of the man who had died for Roy's own objectives.

"Were our positions reversed, what would you be doing now?" He glanced to the stone, hands shoved firmly into his pockets. "Would you cater to Edward's request and send his boy home, or would you keep it a secret, allow him to stay?"

There was never any answer to his questions. Just the sound of his own heart racing and breath leaving his body. But, sometimes, he would remember the days of the Extermination Campaign, and imagine that Hughes was still alive and well, standing beside him as a counselor. If anything, he'd want to respect the wishes of that young friend, though not without the thrill of a good mystery.

"You'd let him stay," Roy muttered with a dry smile. "You'd say that children don't travel for three days just for a bit of sight-seeing. They could learn all about Central with brochures and picture books." He lifted his head to the sky, sighing. There had been a time when the stars had shone brightly, unhindered by the black screen of smoke that had become a permanent resident of Central. It was such a shame. "He's Edward's son, Hughes. I know he came here for something. But what would bring him here, so far from home...?"

****# - # - # - #****

He hadn't been able to get out of the room, even to take a brief walk around the building. The soldiers were under strict orders, after all, and had refused to allow him any freedom. So he had settled for dreaming, wishing that he could slip through the glass like water and fool them all. Disappear before they knew he had gone, make his rounds around the city, and return with what he needed.

But that was the problem right there. Winston didn't know in the slightest what he could do, if anything, to make his home and family whole again. So he sat down at the edge of his bed, positioning himself so that the light from the moon would strike the pages of the book held in his hand.

The soldiers hadn't bothered checking his suitcase, and for that he was grateful. If they had, he could have ended up in a jail for stealing books and military records from the library.

Upon checking the index, Winston gently leaned over the bed and placed the book back inside the suitcase, his hand fishing around for another. He needed something that detailed his father's exploits in the military, his adventures. With his father being as famous as he was, someone must have written something about him. If not a biography, then at least a few pages in some history book.

For perhaps an hour, Winston sat there and sifted through the books, reading through pages about the old Amestrian military and its flaws. Human experimentation, mass murder on a grand scale, wars, and so on. He cared little for things of that nature, about learning who and what had prompted this now great nation to engage in such atrocious things. He just wanted a damned answer, a way to make everyone happy again.

"Big brother..."

Blue eyes widened, turning to Annabel's sleeping form on the bed across the room. She hadn't moved, hadn't snored, hadn't made any sound aside from that of her deep, relaxed breathing. Shaking his head, Winston returned to the book, hoping this time to find something about the disbanded organization of State Alchemists. His finger fell upon the page, hope brimming on his face.

"'...State Alchemists were primarily seen by the populace as enemies, often ridiculed by the public and called 'human weapons' for the violent role they played in the destruction of the people of Ishbal during the Eastern Civil War... were also ridiculed for their supposed undying loyalty to the Fuhrer of the time, King Bradley...'"

He read on, learning then that the watch with the six-sided star and the military's insignia had been the seal of the Fuhrer, marking the State Alchemists as "dogs of the military." So his father, the youngest State Alchemist in the history of the organization, must have been seen the same way as the others. A monster, a weapon, a soldier with a love for war and death. Winston squeezed his eyes shut, dispelling those thoughts. He knew his father, knew that he wasn't a cruel bastard who would take pleasure in other people's suffering.

If he had, would he really have been named a hero?

"Brother...?"

Looking towards the bed, it was not Annabel who stared back at him, but a little girl with a bow tied into golden hair, clad in a blue-white dress. She stood there in silence, watching him as the book fell out of his hands and onto the floor. Winston stood, the little girl following suit. They approached one another slowly, the child's face calm as could be while poor Winston felt something welling in his chest. He knew this feeling well, had even come to resent it as the years had worn on. Every time he thought about her, he felt like he was drowning, or perhaps just breathing through a wet sponge. They hadn't even touched when he stopped, shocked as she continued coming towards him.

He closed his eyes in fear, telling himself that it was a dream, that she wasn't real... anymore.

But when a small hand closed around his finger, they burst open again, full of tears. The girl gave his hand a gentle tug, just enough to pull the shaking boy to his knees. Letting go, she lifted her arms, tiny fingers grazing the sides of his face, her own still as empty and emotionless as before.

Winston tried to speak, tried to usher this cruel apparition away, but he had fallen mute.

"Why, Brother?" the girl asked in a quiet voice. "Why didn't you stop me?"

There they were, running through the fields, Matilda chasing after him as he carried her doll away. It flew across the river, and she ran out of the tall grass, prepared to knock him into the water. A few small steps to the right, a rock beneath his foot, and he fell over, sending her tumbling into the rapids to die.

Shamed, he hung his head, shoulders shaking. "I didn't mean to..." he cried, fingers moving to hold onto her dress. The last dress their Granny Pinako had sewn for Matilda before she had gone on to heaven. His sister had loved this dress. It only made sense that she'd wear it in death. "Please... don't hate me, Matti... I didn't mean to let you..."

"Die?" She looked at him with those big, beautiful eyes of hers, lips pressed into a small line on her face. Then, she smiled. "That's okay, Win," Matilda chirped. "You're gonna make it better, aren't you? Isn't that what you came to Central for?"

Winston nodded, allowing her small arms catching him in a hug. "Not better, Matti. Right. I'll make things right again..."

"Okay, Win. Just remember," she let him go, turning and jumping up onto his bed, "you promised me. And you can't break a promise."

She moved slowly, jumping up and down before launching herself towards the window, the lace at the bottom of the dress flying behind her as she slipped through the glass, vanishing.

Winston, still kneeling on the floor, just pressed his head against the foot of his bed, and cried.


End file.
